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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24804373">had we but world enough and time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairywine/pseuds/fairywine'>fairywine</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AusHunWeek, AusHunWeek2020, F/M, Historical Hetalia, Mentions of Suicide, historical event context, historical fic, not in graphic detail</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:08:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,434</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24804373</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairywine/pseuds/fairywine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An Imperial and Royal wedding in Bad Ischl, Austria-Hungary, 1890, and just what immortality means when you share it with someone you love.</p><p>(AusHun week 2020 fic, day 3: Immortality. Title comes from  “To His Coy Mistress” by Andrew Marvell. CW for a few mentions of the suicide of Crown Prince Rudolf of Austria-Hungary.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Austria/Hungary (Hetalia)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>had we but world enough and time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A wedding day in summer’s gold-fired heart is an unlikely place for ghosts. The buoyant crowds still thronging the tidy, bright streets of Bad Ischl don’t notice, caught up in the excitement of the Imperial and Royal wedding of the Archduchess Marie Valerie of Austria-Hungary. The festive air of the common folk celebrating, the black-yellow flag of the Habsburgs dotted about like so many regally territorial bumblebees, proves enough of a shield to keep thoughts pleasant and smiles fit to match the July flowers blooming in the spa town’s main square.</p><p>No, it is not the ordinary people the ghosts loom over, an invisible cloud shadowing the proceedings despite the brilliant sunshine blessing the wedding day of the Empress of Austria’s youngest child. That tragic burden, another one of many in the long reign of Franz Joseph, falls upon the shoulders of the Imperial family.</p><p>What remains of it, after the Mayerling lodge incident. After the suicide of the Crown Prince and his mistress. The great hope of the future of the Danubian Monarchy, gone and dead for over a year and a half now.</p><p>On the surface, all is joyful hope for a blissful nuptial future. The luxurious white laces and silks of the bride’s gown are outdone only by the gleaming jewels adorning her person, one gift of many from her loving and indulgent parents. Her marriage may have been a quieter affair compared to that of her siblings, but isn’t at all the lesser in opulence. From the lavish gowns of the ladies, to the crisp military dress uniforms of the gentlemen, and the Habsburg-crested decorations covering seemingly every bit of bare space to be had in Bad Ischl, it’s a fairytale dream of a wedding.</p><p>The problem with fairytales, Austria thinks, is how people rarely trouble themselves to remember they have thorns.</p><p>Nothing is said, and yet it is in the empty spaces and silent moments the specters of Crown Prince Rudolf and Baroness Mary Vetsera make their presence felt. The happy smiles show strain at the edges. Uncertainty passes its shadow over eyes. The sense of people determinedly carrying on with a day that is supposed to be happy does little to dispel the leaden weight of Rudolf’s death still hanging over it.</p><p>But life must go on, for humans. They have no freedom in the matter, not with their time on earth so fragile, so brief compared to that of Nations. Perhaps that is their resilience at work too, striding onward in the harsh and uncaring face of the world. Removed as Austria is from the ever-flowing passage of the mortal lifespan, he understands this much. And thus the regions of the Austro-Hungarian Empire pay tribute to this tenacity, united as one for even just the day of July 31st, 1890.</p><p>Or at least making a polite show of passing for unity. In this regard, Austria has learned to take what he can get. Everyone’s behaving themselves, and for now that’s good enough.</p><p>The reception after the ceremony at the Kaiservilla goes a long way towards smoothing out the underlying current of tension. Mainly in the form of route social obligations, because the true core of nobility is keeping up appearances at all costs, but the generous spread of food and especially drink proves as much a balm to the festivities as anything else. It’s not impossible to be depressed when stuffed to the gills with cake and champagne, but it’s certainly effective as a momentary distraction. And for most of the guests present, it’s enough to shove away thoughts of dead princes and bullets.</p><p>“Please, please tell me that was the last of them,” Hungary murmurs to him after waving away the most recent round of esteemed guests, diplomacy stating <em> all </em> had to be acknowledged. Her genteel public smile doesn’t slip, but her eyes show the true depth of her pleading.</p><p>“I believe so,” Austria says. He feels his wife sag in undisguised relief next to him, and even he’s surprised by the small, quiet laugh that bubbles up. For all the ups and downs they've had over the centuries, one of the truest constants is the fact no one ever makes him feel <em> alive </em> the way Hungary does.</p><p>It does make him feel bad about what he has to say next, though. “Excepting the bride and groom, of course. It wouldn’t do for them to leave for their honeymoon without bidding them a proper farewell.”</p><p>“No, it wouldn’t,” Hungary says with a sigh. Austria won’t begrudge her lack of enthusiasm. It’s no secret that Archduchess Marie Valerie-born in Buda to the Queen called the ‘Beautiful Providence’ of the Magyar people, raised to speak only Hungarian to her mother, brought up with Hungarian governesses and servants-has no love in her heart for Hungary, her people, or her lands. What little deference she does express stems from deep love for her Imperial and Royal mother more than any sense of obligation as a member of the main family of the House of Habsburg.</p><p>Indeed, for a daughter of the Austrian Emperor Marie Valerie has a shocking lack of attachment to even the Cisleithania side of Austria-Hungary. If the Archduchess had any sort of political influence Austria would find her fervor for pan-Germanism beyond alarming. But thankfully, the bride seems content to go safely and quietly into married life, and as long as her views stay kept to herself he supposes they can do little harm.</p><p>Regardless of how much Marie Valerie cares for either of them, the appearance of <em> kaiserlich und königlich </em> serenity must be maintained. Tongues have wagged enough about the perennially tragic Habsburgs. It’s far past time to get things back under control.</p><p>“It won’t be long,” Austria says, extending a gentlemanly arm to Hungary. She sighs again, but the smile she gives him as she takes it is small but genuine. The summer heat is nothing compared to how he melts inside, barely remembering the proper decorum his rank demands. Against the mesmerizing, wild green of her eyes, it’s far from an easy task.</p><p>Not for the first time that day Austria takes in the sight of how beautiful she looks in her emerald-colored silk dress, cut in simple, elegant lines, forearms and center bodice encased in creamy white lace. Lake Balaton is as always securely nestled in her cinnamon hued hair, but instead of the usual simple bun Hungary typically prefers for proper coiffures, it’s been twisted into the elegant, complicated coils renowned by her beloved Queen. It wouldn’t be the first time the royal hairdresser Franziska Feifalik has been loaned out to style her hair. Others may pay a small fortune for the privilege of her highly demanded skills, but when it comes to Hungary the Kaiserin’s generosity is always boundless.</p><p>Off husband and wife go through the elegant Neoclassical confines of the Kaiservilla. Beautiful as the building is, it’s far from lived up to the hope of marital harmony envisioned when it was gifted to the newlywed Emperor and Empress almost forty years ago. Hopefully Marie Valerie will be more fortunate than her parents. Away from the bustle of Vienna and court life, the idyllic rolling hills of the Salzkammergut countryside in the Austrian west seems far better suited to the shy, quiet Archduchess.</p><p>(There had been quite a to do about whether Rudolf or Marie Valerie would inherit the Kaiservilla, back when her engagement was announced. The thought that the whole issue is moot now leaves a bitter tang in Austria’s mouth.)</p><p>It isn’t hard to find the happy couple, surrounded by a sea of well-wishers at the massive ballroom of the Kaiservilla. Marie Valerie may not share the otherworldly beauty of her famous mother, but the joy she so clearly feels today leaves her eyes becomingly bright and cheeks flushed a girlish pink. Besides her Franz Salvator stands proudly, all attentiveness to his bride. If her smile falters upon catching sight of Austria and Hungary, she recovers quickly enough for it to not draw attention.</p><p>“Kaiserthum Oesterreich, Königreich Ungarn,” Marie Valerie greets them, the German flowing gracefully if not very pointedly from her lips. Austria leans over her outstretched hand as Hungary drops into a curtsy, knowing full well the respectful downward tilt of his wife’s head is hiding a grimace. But this is his Archduchess, on the day of her marriage. Best to let things go in the name of peace.</p><p>“On behalf of the Dual Monarchy, our most sincere congratulations to you both,” Austria says smoothly as he rises. “May you bring the bliss of this day into the rest of your wedded lives.”</p><p>“Thank you for such kind thoughts,” Marie Valerie clutches Franz Salvator’s arm a little more tightly where they’re linked. Even her apathy for them seems to have been subsumed by bridal happiness, and the smile she gives them both is unusually relaxed. “Today has been a dream. It feels like a great portent for the future.”</p><p>“Indeed,” Franz Salvator adds. “I could have not wished for a more kind or generous welcome into the family. Their Majesties redefine thoughtfulness. Not just in the planning of the wedding, but the honeymoon as well. It’s truly humbling.”</p><p>“Offensee is so lovely in the summer,” Hungary says. “You’ll have a wonderful time.”</p><p>Austria is about to add a suitably neutral but nice comment to keep the conversation going when he spots Slovakia slipping past the edge of the crowd just out of Hungary’s line of sight. Knowing how tight a grip Hungary tends to keep on <em> Felvidék</em>, it’s not surprising he’d take a moment to himself when given a chance. What does get Austria’s attention in a more meaningful way is when he sees Bohemia strolling slowly but surely through the milling guests in the same direction, the graceful lines of her navy gown worn with the same bloody-minded self assurance she once did with armor.</p><p>What to do? The last thing Austria wants to do is make a scene at Marie Valerie’s wedding, especially over such a small instance of rebellion. And though he’s well aware he’s the last person who can judge, Hungary really does keep Slovakia leashed closely. Too much, perhaps. A little breathing room seems the lesser evil compared to strangling someone to the point where open revolt becomes their only option. It’s a lesson Austria’s certainly had from his wife over the centuries.</p><p>“-have you said your goodbyes to everyone already?”</p><p>“Not quite. There are just so many people to see before we leave!”</p><p>Belatedly, Austria realizes he’s been silent for longer than is considered seemly. Well, it’s a festive day. A little leniency is appropriate enough. He’ll just have to be a touch more mindful of any Slavic restlessness afterwards.</p><p>“Then we will not be so ungracious to keep you any longer,” Austria says grandly. One round of suitably deferential bowing and he and Hungary are free to return to the party, obligations fulfilled for the moment. Somewhere in the midst of all the mingling Austria loses his wife, but it doesn’t worry him. There’s no need for them to be glued to each other’s sides, and by dinner time they’ll be back together again anyway.</p><p>It’s a choice Austria regrets the moment he realizes he’s passed the same hunting landscape in the Kaiservilla for the fourth time, trying to remember the way up to his rooms so he can get properly changed for the evening. Clearly he overestimated his ability to navigate a building constructed in perfectly straight lines, a challenge Austria thought would be simple compared to the massive halls of the Schönbrunn. At least the smaller, more personal ceremony means Germany isn’t around to see him at a loss. Or, thank God, Prussia.</p><p>Ascending the stairs, for once empty of anyone who could possibly give directions, does Austria’s mood no good. By the time he reaches the third floor, his energy is beginning to seriously flag. But finally there is another soul around, at the great window overlooking the road leading up to the Kaiservilla.</p><p>Even that feeling of triumph instantly disappears when exactly which woman that tall, willowy figure belongs to registers. Austria hesitates, wondering if it would be best to make an exit rather than impose on the Empress. She never welcomed his company even during the rare happy times of her reign, and on the day she’s given up her most treasured child to matrimony his person would only serve to pain her more.</p><p>“Will you lurk in the corner any longer, <em> Ausztria</em>? I have no need for more shades.” As usual, Elisabeth’s voice is a soft murmur floating through the air like smoke, so at odds with the boldness of the Hungarian tongue she mastered so many decades ago. She doesn’t look away from the road that just an hour ago had seen Marie Valerie and Franz Salvator off to their honeymoon, the white carriage festooned with alpine roses and forget-me-nots and surrounded by cheering crowds who have since then disappeared to keep celebrating in town.</p><p>“I am at your command, your Majesty.” An old, safe answer, trotted out like a faithful hound. It doesn’t rouse a word from the Empress, and Austria deliberately keeps to a slower pace to give her time to change her mind if need be. He can’t imagine what she wants with him. Not his company, certainly. Once again, Austria wishes Hungary by his side. Even if she couldn’t lift Elisabeth’s spirits, at least the well-loved friend would be a better balm than the long-despised jailer.</p><p>Time, that eternal, ceaseless nemesis of mankind, could not be stopped from claiming its tithe from even the most beautiful woman in the world. The innocent Wittelsbach duchess, once called fresh as a budding almond by a smitten young Emperor, has long faded into a <em> mater dolorosa </em> whose face has been etched by grief and the unrelenting passage of years. If Elisabeth had been side by side with the famous portrait Winterhalter had painted of her, gold and white gown shining as brightly as the diamond stars in her braided hair, one would barely conceive of the duo being one and the same.</p><p>Not this painfully-slender woman, dressed in somber pearl grey-a concession to her beloved Marie Valerie on her wedding day. But all her other clothes are pure mourning black now, the colorful garb of yesteryear given away to her daughters along with all her jewels and accessories. Like so many other things, they had belonged to a more hopeful Elisabeth, one who had died when her only son did.</p><p>Yet, the chestnut colored locks are still abundant and full, even if her eyes seem to be gazing out somewhere beyond Austria’s grasping.</p><p>“Do beings so far removed from the existence of mankind gain anything from days like this? Watching us scurry around like so many ants.” Elisabeth’s fingers stroke the folded lines of her fan, her constant shield against the prying eyes of the public. “All my children are gone from me now. Be glad you will never have to feel such pain.”</p><p>That doesn’t strike a nerve so much as stab into it with a sword. Even from his own royalty there are lines Austria won’t let be crossed. So long-has it really been more than eighty years now-</p><p>
  <em> “I told myself I wouldn’t be scared, but I am.” Blue eyes tired and dull, the once brilliant golden hair lank against hollowed, pale cheeks. But the words have a strange dignity to them, a peace even when issued by such a weak voice. “I’m scared to die.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “A natural instinct,” Austria stands ridgedly by the side of the bed, staring down at his fellow Nation. One nearly the same age as him, yet who had never grown into the promise of all he could have been, forever stunted into a pastiche of childhood. “It is the great unknown that touches all of creation. No one would judge you for it.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The Holy Roman Empire sighs, the small action coming with great strain. As do all things, when a body is hovering on the line between life and death. “I always tried to do my best. That should count for something, shouldn’t it?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> In a fair world, it would. But Austria doesn’t have any illusions about that. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “It won’t be long, now.” Holy Rome slumps further into his pillows, staring up at the canopy of his bed. “I hope...I can see...one last time…” </em>
</p><p>-and the guilt, the failure, the <em> loss </em> still sting with the freshness of an open wound.</p><p>“I too have lost a child, Kaiserin,” Austria snaps, Alpine frost jagged spikes in a tone straight from the peaks of Großglockner. In any other circumstances he would be appalled to speak to the Empress in such a way, but the rawness of the moment put decorum out of his mind for once. With an effort Austria recalls himself, and shifts back into his usual manner of address. “In the way of my kind. One I have not forgotten, and never will.”</p><p>Elisabeth stares at him like she’s actually seeing him for once, a rare instance of piercing her veil of perpetual indifference. The Empress has no love in her heart for him, and Austria wouldn’t dream of expecting it from her. Not towards the embodiment of the misery that’s followed her since the day she accepted Franz Joseph’s proposal in Bad Ischl so long ago. But there’s a smidgen more respect in her dark eyes than Austria typically receives from his monarch’s wife.</p><p>“Immortals are never truly free, are they? From the past, from life, from themselves.” It’s not an apology, but royalty are not given to such actions as a general rule. But Austria will accept it for being as close as it’s likely to get. “I was once naïve enough to be wanting of such effortless youth. But I do not envy you the cost.”</p><p>“We make the best of it we can, your Majesty,” Austria finally says. “Just like anyone else.”</p><p>“Hungary said much the same to me, when you two were wed.” Elisabeth taps her fan into her hand. “And still you’ve managed to find your own kind of happiness where it has eluded so many others.”</p><p>Like Elisabeth and Franz Joseph. There’s nothing Austria can tell the Empress now that wouldn’t add to her pain, and in the end he can only incline his head in agreement.</p><p>“I have a headache. Do not expect my attendance for the rest of the evening,” Elisabeth says abruptly. “Ida, let us retire.”</p><p>The loyal lady in waiting, who had completely passed Austria’s notice from the shadowed corner she had been seated by, rises to escort Elisabeth to her chambers.</p><p>“I will let Hungary know, Empress,” Austria says for lack of anything better. “We wish you a swift recovery.”</p><p>Elisabeth doesn’t bother to respond, their brief moment of understanding passed back into familiar apathy. Still feeling shaken, Austria glances out the window, the front lawn of the Kaiservilla now illuminated in the night by the many lanterns set up for the convenience of the partygoers. Lit up like so many fireflies, flitting about under the worn gaze of a tired old man. Austria catches his reflection in the glass, and can only see the truth of ancient eyes set in the lie of a young aristocrat’s face.</p><p>Such a long, long time. Trudging on, year after year, century after century. Through blood and war, destruction and death, knowing the good times would never last. Humans sparking in and out of existence with lightning speed, the only certainty being they would one day be gone. Peace as distant and ephemeral as a butterfly’s wings, in the ever-shifting chaos that is life on Earth. Because there is no other choice.</p><p>And yet, the business of living can still be borne, somehow.</p><p>“Austria!” Hungary rushes down the staircase to him, a vision in her evening gown of palest jade silk dotted with stars, trimmed about the dipping neckline and hem with a frothy wash of gold-embroidered champagne colored lace. Even with the urgent look on her face she’s still absolutely breathtaking. “Where have you been? You should have started changing for dinner fifteen minutes ago.”</p><p>Austria can’t bring himself to think on such things, just needing to drink in Hungary’s presence. Catching something of his mood, Hungary’s expression shifts into concern, gently cupping his face with hands whose strength even her elegant evening gloves can’t hide. “Are you alright, <em> kedvesem</em>?”</p><p>“It’s been a long day,” Austria simply says, resting his forehead against his wife’s. “And well…”</p><p>“Did you get lost again?” Hungary looks up at him with keen green eyes, clearly aware there’s more to the story but that he’s not up to sharing just yet.</p><p>“These halls are laid out exactly alike,” Austria says, reddening a little. Hungary merely chuckles, pressing a kiss to his cheek before grabbing his hand in hers.</p><p>“What would you do without me?” Hungary says, leading them up the stairs. They take a left turn, and another left, and <em> finally </em> a right with the familiar door of their quarters at the Kaiservilla revealing itself. “If I weren’t around, you’d probably still be wandering the castle at Székesfehérvár, trying to find the privi-”</p><p>“As I’ve kept telling you for literally centuries, I <em> just </em>wanted some fresh air,” Austria says, wondering at how Hungary still hasn’t tired of that joke nearly a millennia after the fact. “Is it my fault Stephen’s coronation was so poorly ventilated?”</p><p>“Of course. How could a medieval castle have such a flaw in its construction? I’ll be sure to have stern words for the architect,” Hungary teases, smile bright as they step into their main sitting room. Scanning the empty quarters, her brows draw together into a frown. “Where is your valet?”</p><p>“Perhaps in my room?” Austria says, but hope is faint. Schneider is an excellent, hardworking valet, with the only major drawback of having a sense of direction worse than his own. Further examination of both of their rooms, and indeed the rest of the apartments show no servants to be found whatsoever.</p><p>“Even if I hadn’t already sent my lady’s maid downstairs and she could look for him, there still probably wouldn’t be enough time for you to get ready.”</p><p>“I’ll just have to stay in and have something brought up to me,” Austria says, annoyed at being deprived of both a proper meal and the enchanting company of his beautiful wife. But the last thing on Earth he would do is go to dinner in the blue Field Marshal dress uniform he’s been wearing since seven in the morning. The sheer indignity of it could not be tolerated. “I hope it won’t cause too much of a stir.”</p><p>“Hmm...no. You see, I was rather looking forward to dinner with my husband, so I’m afraid that won’t do.” Hungary leads Austria to his room, air equal parts playful and confident. “Fortunately-not for the first time-I’m here to save you.”</p><p>Bemused, Austria drops onto the edge of the bed as Hungary flings open the armoire. The ever-attentive if sadly absent Schneider had readied his eveningwear and assorted accessories all together, from suit jacket down to cuff links. Hungary gives it a thorough scan and makes a pleased noise, evidently finding things to her satisfaction, before spinning around and pointing authoritatively.</p><p>“Strip.” Hungary tilts her head, waiting just long enough for Austria to flush with a devilish grin, before continuing. “I’ll play valet for you tonight.”</p><p>“I believe the whole point of <em> Ausgleich </em> was so you wouldn’t have to perform servant duties for me any more,” Austria says drily, working the buttons of his outer jacket. At least the dress uniform is more or less easy for him to take off himself, compared to his more fitted formal attire. His cheek does earn him a whap on the arm from Hungary, but she keeps on setting out garments on the bed so she can’t be truly irate.</p><p>“Exactly so. I don’t <em> have </em> to, and can choose to do as I wish,” Hungary carefully sets down shoes polished to an obsidian shine, before clapping her hands together and looking at her husband, now down to undershirt and drawers.</p><p>A long, drawn out pause follows. Then, a deep sigh. “Oh, Austria. If you must patch your undergarments up past the point of all reason, at least ask someone who can sew decently to do it.”</p><p>“It’s not as if anyone will see it besides you,” Austria says with what he’s positive is only mild defensiveness as he pulls on a fresh pair of socks, setting them in place on his calves with garters.</p><p>“Nonetheless, I’m going to talk to your valet about it.” Hungary’s fingers drift over the assembled pieces before picking up the underbust corset. With practiced ease she helps slip the panels around Austria’s waist, straightening out the back as he fastens the front busk clasps shut in a neat row from top to bottom. “The usual fit?”</p><p>“Yes, thank you,” Austria confirms, letting Hungary tighten up the laces at the top and bottom before focusing on the tension of the middle eyelets. She’s got a sure, steady hand at the task, and it calms him enough to say what he’s been holding in. “I ran into the Empress earlier.”</p><p>A moment passes as Hungary absorbs this, though the tugging of the modesty panel into place and pulling of looped laces doesn’t stop. “How was Sisi?”</p><p>“As she has been.” <em> Not well</em>. “A headache was troubling her, so she found it necessary to retire early.” <em> But of course the Empress would not want to attend the celebration of her last great loss. </em> “Undoubtedly the exertion of all the wedding events proved too draining. No one has done more for Marie Valerie than her, today and always.” <em> And without the precious Hungarian Child, there is nothing left for her in all the Empire. </em></p><p>“I see.” Hungary ties the laces into a neat bow before tucking away the excess. She nudges Austria’s arms up to help him slide into his dress shirt, and when she circles around to help him fasten it up he can see the sorrow darkening her vibrant eyes. The pain of knowing there’s nothing to be done for Elisabeth’s grief-heavy heart.</p><p>In silence Hungary holds Austria in place while he pulls up his carefully pressed trousers, tucking in this shirt for the <em> de rigueur </em> close fit as he takes care of the front panel. Next are the bracers, his wife taking care to make sure the back is perfectly center and leaving the front snaps up to him. In any other circumstances Austria would be pleased with how quickly things are going, to say nothing of having Hungary’s hands all over his body, but the air in the room has turned to somber quiet.</p><p>“Rudolf alone was enough of a blow to shatter anyone,” Hungary speaks up softly, running the proud red and white sash of the Military Order of Maria Theresa delicately in her grasp. “But to lose Andrássy and her sister as well in just a couple months...and then Marie Valerie’s wedding too…”</p><p>The threads that had kept Elisabeth tied, however tenuously, to the world. Mercilessly snipped, one after another. Leaving her untethered as any lost soul, waiting for nothing but intractable fate to claim her.</p><p>“She’ll always love you.” Austria stands still in order to let Hungary set the sash in place over his shoulder, cleanly cutting across his chest with the bow in place by the hip. His wife follows it up with the pristine white silk waistcoat, tailored to fit the torso with perfect snugness. “<em>Magyar királyné </em> is the only title that she’s ever been proud to claim.”</p><p>“And here I am, able to do nothing for my beloved Queen when she needs it the most,” Hungary says bitterly, fingers lacking their usual nimbleness as she buttons up the waistcoat. “So what good am I then?”</p><p>“You gave the Empress the happiest moments she’s had,” Austria says firmly, clutching his wife’s hands in his own. Hungary gazes up at him, and even after all these years it still gives him a little jolt to notice how petite she actually is. Nothing about Hungary has ever been <em> small</em>, not her courage, her resilience, her boundless strength no matter how much the world tried to wear her down. Even in defeat, she’s victorious. “That’s everything.”</p><p>“Is it?” Hungary leans into Austria, head resting against his shoulder. He drops his lips to her hair, breathes in the sweet scent of Lake Balaton.</p><p>“<em>Piros, fehér, zöld,” </em>Austria recites, only to receive a confused expression from his wife in turn.</p><p>“I know my own national colors, Austria.”</p><p>“Then you should remember you’ve always had hope, even in harder times than this.”</p><p>Hungary’s eyes widen before she laughs slightly. A weak laugh, but it’s there. “Technically we never made the meanings official. But it’s sweet of you all the same.”</p><p>“I try.”</p><p>“<em>Sometimes</em>, my oh so proud husband,” Hungary says, but her smile takes the edge off her tart tone. With two neat motions she snaps his silver cuff links into place before tugging his shirt sleeves neatly level with his wrists. “You have plenty of sweetness to make up for me before I can say it outnumbers the less charming instances.”</p><p>A smart spouse would have kept his mouth shut at this, thinking of overall marital felicity. Especially as his wife is helping him into a tight fitting tail-coat of the same fine black Italian wool as his pants, and could easily enact an immediate vengeance if desired. But still.</p><p>“...You did shoot me first,” Austria says stubbornly. He could never forget the day when he first ran into that slight, gamine child clad in furs and rough leathers by the banks of the Tuonowe. Blazing green eyes and a messy mane of cinnamon hair, astride a horse like they had been born in the saddle. And of course, arrows swift as lightning, which only had hurt marginally more than Schwyz’s blistering lecture about being a good soldier as he picked them out one by one.</p><p>For a moment Hungary looks like she’s ready to go give Austria a trip down memory lane. At least once she’s dug her archery set out of whatever attic it's wound up in. Then her mouth curls up wickedly, making Austria all the more nervous as she ties a thin length of white silk around his neck into a bow that just barely avoids being too tight.</p><p>“True. But how else was I to take that soft boy with his pretty purple eyes home with me?”</p><p>“...Pretty purple eyes?”</p><p>“And an adorable mole.” Hungary presses a kiss to the aforementioned beauty mark, unintimidated by Austria’s admittedly half-hearted scowl. “Shoes, now.”</p><p>Those at least Austria is able to slide into on his own, grateful for Schneider’s foresight in choosing pump loafers over lace ups. Hungary passes over his white evening gloves, cut to fit like a second skin, and works the clasps shut for him while he flexes the material properly into place.</p><p>With that last step, Austria’s formal dress is complete. Glancing up at the clock shows there’s just five minutes until the official reception dinner. They might be a touch late with the time it will take them to get all the way down to the dining hall, but not enough to cause any sort of comment.</p><p>“Amazing,” Austria says, checking his appearance in the mirror. “I can’t believe you were able to do it all so quickly. If you didn’t have so much else to occupy yourself with, I believe my valet would feel quite threatened.”</p><p>“Ah, almost,” Hungary corrects him. Cupping her hands together, Austria feels the presence she casts upon the world-the way all Nations do, beings of flesh and land that they are-deepen, thicken. <em> Magyarország</em>, but somehow even more so. Austria, standing in the heart of Bad Ischl, breathes in and smells the clean forest air of the Mátra. Hears the waters of the Tisza, instead of the nearby Traun.</p><p>Hungary uncurls her fingers, revealing a small sprig of spicy scented white flowers in the palm of her hand. Tucking it into Austria’s lapel, she casts an approving gaze at her finished work. “There we go. A gentleman shouldn’t go without a boutonnière at dinner time, after all.”</p><p>“A geranium? You certainly have a fine way of staking a claim.” Austria tries, but his faint but pleased smile betrays him in an instant.</p><p>“It’s white. Very à la mode.” Hungary pats his hair down into order, stubborn Mariazell popping up as it always does. “Sadly, pink just would have clashed too much with your sash.”</p><p>“Next time, I promise,” Austria says, holding his arm out to her. “Shall we?”</p><p>Despite the affectation, he still counts on Hungary to lead them down the right way. Side by side, as they have been since...well, practically the very beginning of both their lives. Enemies, allies, neighbors, rivals, friends, lovers. All things good and bad they’ve shared over the centuries. But even the worst moments he wouldn’t trade for anything if it meant losing Hungary in the process.</p><p>“Are you ready?” Hungary asks as they make it past the last flight of stairs. There’s a gentle carefulness to her tone, and when Austria looks at his wife her concern is easy to see. “You seem preoccupied.”</p><p>“I’ve just been thinking of how long it’s been,” Austria admits. “It’s no wonder the humans can’t comprehend it, when time runs over us like a tidal wave if we let ourselves dwell on it.”</p><p>“A thousand years, give or take,” Hungary says, and he knows too she’s thinking now on the past.</p><p>“Would you give it up, if you had the chance? To have a normal life?” Austria regrets asking immediately, knowing it for the foolishness it is. Why contemplate what could never be altered? They have no more chance of mortality than a fish does to swim in the sky. To be any other way would be to cease <em> being </em> a Nation entirely.</p><p>“I could have lived in more peace that way, maybe. To not be forced to endure all I have,” Hungary says without hesitating, honest as always. But the fingers that have so skillfully wielded swords and frying pans alike lace into his, holding tight. “But my endless life has seen me to where I am today. So I think it was worth it.”</p><p>They approach the closed double doors of the reception hall. Aside from two footmen at ready, they’re alone, the other guests having already gone on ahead. The servants move to admit them, but Hungary waves them down, turning to Austria with more levity. “Besides, I ended up needing that long just to work things out with you.”</p><p>“Or perhaps I simply was biding my time against the most obstinate woman in Europe,” Austria says, feeling lighter. “Who’s to say?”</p><p>Hungary gasps in feigned outrage, then in genuine surprise when Austria leans down to kiss her. But her mouth is sweet and spicy against his own, making his heart feel as reckless and free as the wild horses running in the Hortobágy plains. The sight of her face, flushed as prettily pink as the flowers in her hair, makes Austria think that forever really isn’t long enough. In some respects.</p><p>“In front of the help?” Hungary murmurs, still blushing as sweetly as a maiden. “And people say I’m already a bad enough influence on you.”</p><p>“We’ll have to see where another thousand years has us,” Austria says, tucking a wayward strand of Hungary’s hair back into place.</p><p>“I’m looking forward to it,” Hungary says, smile bright as the sun. Austria signals the footmen into readiness once they’ve stopped gazing at the ceiling.</p><p>The future is uncertain, to be sure, and undoubtedly holds trials and tribulations aplenty for them both. But whatever it may bring, Austria will weather it. If it means, for even one more day, having Hungary by his side.</p>
<hr/><p>Me: AusHun week!! Yes! But nothing’s coming to me...I guess I’ll just have to sit this one out. :(</p><p>My muse, the day before AusHun Week started: </p><p>Me: <em> Baszd meggggggggg- </em></p><p>So yeah, I couldn’t get this one out quite in time for Day 3: Immortality, but after an absolute bitch of a case of writer’s block everything started coming together and I had to do it. Better late than never, right?</p><p>1890 in Austria-Hungary was an...interesting year. The Compromise of 1867 (<em>Ausgleich </em> / <em> Kiegyezés</em>) had been in effect for a little over twenty years at that point. Franz Joseph’s reign as Emperor of Austria for forty-two years, and things, while far from perfect, were stable. (For a given value of stable). Austria-Hungary had avoided being drawn into any major conflicts since its inception, and after so many centuries of war, conflict, and rebellion the finally autonomous Hungary was doing fairly well for itself. While it was economically still behind Austria, the gap was decreasing, industry was constantly expanding, and like the rest of Europe during this time there was a flowering of arts and culture unlike any other. *takes a moment to self-indulgently swoon over Art Nouveau*</p><p>But like a still lake filled with hungry piranhas, there was a lot of danger below the surface. The multi-ethnic Empire never really hit upon a decent way to balance out its assorted nationalities in a way that could make everyone happy, and the Compromise entrenched this as the amount of control it gave to the Hungarian nobility guaranteed they would never give the non-Magyars in the Kingdom of Hungary anything approaching their own degree of rights. While most of Europe had long since moved on from feudalism, its heart was still alive and well in Hungary, complete with ridiculously wealthy, powerful nobles and peasants who basically lived in serfdom. The slowly growing middle class wasn’t growing fast enough to help the disparity. Budapest was (and still is) one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, but the lavish, prosperous <em> Szecesszió </em> wonderland presented to the world was more of an outlier than a reality for the rest of Hungary.</p><p>And then there were the Habsburgs. A sufficiently charismatic reformist ruler, liked or at least respected by the Magyars, might have been enough to improve things. Crown Prince Rudolf, heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne and very much like his intelligent, Magyar loving mother Elisabeth, could have been that ruler. Tragically, we’ll never know, as Rudolf took his own life as well as the life of his mistress Mary Vetsera at the Imperial hunting lodge of Mayerling on January 30, 1889 in a double suicide. Rudolf had long been unhappy, isolated in court and even amongst his own family, and struggled with deep depression in a time where human mentality was not nearly as understood as it is compared to today.</p><p>On top of being a loss that absolutely shattered what unity the main Imperial family had, Rudolf’s death sped up even further the succession crisis that was already brewing amongst the House of Habsburg. He had only one child, the Archduchess Elisabeth, who as a girl was ineligible to rule. Even if his marriage to Princess Stéphanie of Belgium hadn’t been essentially dead, Rudolf had contracted gonorrhea through his affairs and passed it to his wife. Her sterility meant there were to be no more heirs to be had, and as Catholics divorce and annulment were out of the question. (Despite asking even the Pope, who refused.)</p><p>In the end, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, Franz Joseph’s nephew wound up being the next heir to Austria-Hungary after his father Archduke Karl Ludwig passed away in 1896. And well, we all know how well that ended up working out. Franz Ferdinand should be credited for recognizing the Empire was badly in need of restructuring and more equal ethic representation, but he wasn’t very politically savvy <em> and </em> absolutely despised Hungary so a large part of this was stemming from sheer anti-Magyar spite. (One of the first things he wanted to do upon assuming the throne was <b>a military occupation of Budapest</b>). So I don’t think it’s too far fetched to say things wouldn’t have worked out super great for Austria-Hungary if he had lived, either.</p><p>But in 1890, there was still hope, however tenuous, for the future. Things weren’t perfect, but improvement was happening. The Compromise was holding and still mutually beneficial. And the wedding of Archduchess Marie Valerie, the favorite child of the well-loved Empress Elisabeth, seemed like a chance to start moving forward from all the tragedy and have a fresh start. (Unfortunately, though Marie Valerie married for love, Franz Salvator proved to be an unfaithful spouse in the end and even married his mistress after Marie Valerie passed away.)</p><p>So for anyone who still stuck around after the history lecture, Austria and Hungary have both been through a lot at this point. Attraction and feelings have always been there for them in my mind, but their relationship and its many ups and downs, as well as their respective duties as Nations, have made successfully pursuing a lasting romance...difficult. But at this point, with a thousand years of being side by side through good times and bad ones...they were overall happy together as a couple. It was better and healthier once they became fully independent but in my mind Austria-Hungary was not a era of misery for them.</p><p>Some notes:</p><p>Black-yellow flag-Though the current red-white-red Austrian flag has very old roots, for most of the time it was ruled by the Habsburgs a black-yellow flag derived from colors of the banner of the Holy Roman Empire was used once the Habsburgs had the throne of Emperor on a permanent lockdown to their house. This continued into the Dual Monarchy era, right up into the point when Austria-Hungary was dissolved and Austria became a republic. Austria-Hungary never actually had a single flag to represent the whole state but rather separate flags for each half of the Empire. The closest they got is the flag with both their coat of arms on it, but that was used only by Austro-Hungarian merchant vessels.</p><p><em>“kaiserlich und königlich” </em> is German for “Imperial and Royal”, signifying Austria-Hungary as a unified entity rather than in the two halves of one state sense. The Hungarians were particularly insistent on the “and” being added to emphasize their autonomy, so hyphen fights aren’t limited to just Czechia and Slovakia. XD</p><p>Hungary’s day dress for the wedding ceremony <a href="https://i.pinimg.com/736x/09/00/84/090084883486c5008863b7e5f7ccabfc--dark-green-dresses-dresses-with-lace.jpg"> here </a>.</p><p>There aren’t any color drawings I could find of the wedding, but Franz Joseph seems to be wearing his blue and red Austrian Field Marshal dress uniform in <a href="https://66-media-tumblr-com.cdn.ampproject.org/i/s/66.media.tumblr.com/7208f21e0b5daaa61b0c757f210917e3/tumblr_po9uymu0zA1v1oo6no1_1280.jpg"> this etching </a>, and Austria himself would have followed the Emperor’s example.</p><p>The bit with Bohemia/Czechia and Slovakia is a self-indulgent shout out to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/16611317"> Shalimar </a> I just couldn’t resist. Turns out Austria <em> did </em> notice them sneaking off and just decided to be a Cool Dad about it and not make a fuss.</p><p>If I have any chance at all to stick a gratuitous Sisi moment into AusHun fic, I <em> will </em> do it without exception. Elisabeth never emotionally recovered from Rudolf’s suicide-though for various reasons they were not close-and wore nothing but mourning black for the rest of her life, wandering but never content until she was assassinated by Luigi Lucheni in Geneva in 1898. Her last public appearance in her official role as Empress was for Hungary’s Millenium Celebration in 1896-even in her darkest depths of grief she kept her love for the country.</p><p>Hungary’s evening dress <a href="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/85/ce/45/85ce4569e910dd444e21e0b123fe5784.jpg"> here </a>. I just...LOVE 1890s fashion SO MUCH.</p><p>With the exception of his Military Order of Maria Theresa sash, Austria’s outfit is typical <a href="https://www.gentlemansgazette.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/Full-evening-dress-in-the-late-Victorian-period.jpg"> men’s formalwear </a> for 1890. I could <em> not </em> pass up the chance to have him wear a corset, though it was pretty on the way out by that point. I regret nothing. :D</p><p><em> Piros, fehér, zöld- </em>Red, white, green, the official Hungarian flag colors. Folklore of the era attributed the red for strength, the white for faithfulness, and green for hope. But it wasn’t made official until Hungary’s newest constitution in 2012.</p><p><em> Tuonowe </em> is the Middle High German word for the Danube, which technically post-dates their first meeting by about a century so I’m cheating just a bit here. Schwyz is baby!Switzerland, still trying to make a fighter out of this useless March.</p><p>Happy AusHun Week, everyone! Long live Central Europe’s favorite power couple!</p><p><br/>
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